


a (sometimes) dirty half-dozen

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Episode: s02e19 The Dirty Half Dozen, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:18:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six ways 2x19 could've gone differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lasting impressions

**Author's Note:**

> All of these were previously posted on tumblr and, since I obviously have a problem, I reserve the right to add to this collection at any point, thus ruining the title.
> 
> Also! If any of these six look familiar, it's probably because they were originally posted to tumblr.

“I’m disappointed in you.”

The sight of Bakshi disintegrating (she did that  _she did that_ ) is still burning in her eyes. Or maybe that’s just the ashes in the air. She can barely see past the gun. But Ward's words, those horrible, hateful words are like a drum beat, snapping her out of it.

“I  _deserved_  that,” she says. It stops him from beating his hasty exit.

“Yeah?” he throws over his shoulder. “Well at least you know.”

She laughs. “Not your disappointment. I deserve to kill you.” And that has him turning around to really face her again. She doesn’t miss that his hand is back on his gun.

“And just what makes you think you deserve to kill me? More than anyone else, I mean?”

“More than the others? Like Coulson, who handed you over to the government to be tried for treason - which typically involves death. I was hoping for hanging myself. Or May, who got to beat you senseless. Or Skye, who shot you. Or - even  _Fitz_  got a turn!”

He laughs, looking to one side like he’s expecting someone else to join in on the joke. “So what? You were feeling left out?”

She’s never been this angry in her life. If she doesn’t move, she’s certain it will burn her up, just like Bakshi. She steps right up to him and grabs his sleeve, just above the cuff. 

It’s not that she doesn’t remember him aiming a gun at her head. It happened less than a minute ago and she still has that terrified bunny feeling tapping away in her chest. Only the anger is bigger.

She pulls the cuff up viciously and holds his hand between them, wrist up. He goes absolutely still when she lays her fingers over the scars.

“I did this,” she says softly, her voice as steady as her fingers holding the needle. “When you were dying by your own hand,  _I’m_  the one who saved you. Again and again and  _again_.” She can still see so clearly the gaping wound, the blood pooling on the concrete floor beneath him. She lost her favorite pair of jeans to him that day. 

She lifts her eyes to his. There’s something there in the brief moment before he thinks to hide it away. It’s not gratitude, that’s for sure. But it’s a vulnerability. Good.

“I brought this body back from the brink of death so many times. So I rather think your body - your  _life_  - is mine.” She lets go of his hand and it falls limply to his side. “Run. We all knew you would. But don’t you dare let anyone else kill you.”

He backs away slowly, putting some distance between them before turning his back on her. She doesn’t kid herself that he’s actually intimidated, but at least now he knows.

“Simmons?” he calls, paused at the door that will take him to his freedom. “I lied. Before.” He smirks at her expression. “I’m not disappointed. I’m  _impressed_. Don’t worry. I’ll keep safe. I’ll come back to you.” He makes it sound like he’s promising to come back to a lover, not his promised murderer.

She’s going to have to find a more fool-proof way to kill him, that‘s all there is to it. Maybe it’s time to go back to the drawing board entirely. Whyever did she give up pathogens for the job? And obviously he’s foolish enough to let her touch him. Something to think about.


	2. footnotes

Grant turns at the sound of a struggle, his gun coming up and aiming directly at - he frowns - at  _Simmons’_  heart. She’s struggling against Bakshi, who’s doing a decent job of keeping her immobilized against his chest.

“She was going to attack you, sir.”

“Let me go! I was coming to see what was taking him so long! Mike needs to get out of here.”

It’s on the tip of Grant’s tongue to tell Bakshi to let her go, but then he notices the small, circular device at their feet. Simmons goes absolutely still when he picks it up. He can actually hear her swallow.

“That’s a medical scanner. I was just putting it away-”

“It’s a bomb,” Grant says firmly. He has enouch experience with them to identify one. He turns it over in his hands. “Nice design too. Fitz’s?”

Living on the Bus, Grant got to see a lot of different sides of Simmons. He’s seen her laughing until she can’t breathe, crying herself to sleep, annoyingly chipper at 0500. But he’s never seen her angry like this before.

“You tried to kill me,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s just so absurd, that he has to put it to words. 

“I made you a promise,” she says. If words could strike a man dead, those would.

He lowers himself so he’s more on her level - harder than usual since Bakshi’s hold on her has her bending forward too - and gestures between them. “We’re on the same team here.”

She rolls her eyes. “We were  _never_  on the same team and we’re certainly not now. The only reason Bakshi saved your life is because you  _tortured_  and  _brainwashed_  him. Coulson’s brought you back in because you’re the lesser evil, that doesn’t make you any less a snake.”

Well that’s disappointing. “I apologized.”

“You did no such thing! That was an excuse, not an apology. And you wouldn’t be forgiven besides.” She looks away, disgusted.

That’s just hurtful. Maybe he was a little aggressive - probably shouldn’t have made that dig at May - but he hit all the right buttons. Tragic past. The good times. The hope of their pseudo-family. And it really hasn’t gotten him anything? He tried to kill himself in that cell for God’s sake! What more does he have to do?

He steps back, surveying Simmons. She should’ve been the easiest. Not only is she the nicest -  _was_ the nicest - she’s also the one he hurt least. He didn’t sleep with her, kiss her, steal her Bus, or cause her brain damage. So what does she have to kill him over? He jumped out of a plane and saved her life! Does she even remember that?

This is gonna be harder than he thought.

He needs to regroup, rethink the plan. 

He was always going to just walk away, but now that he knows all his hard work has won him absolutely nothing? Well, that hasn’t changed, but he’s not leaving empty-handed.

“Bakshi?” 

Simmons winces as Bakshi’s hold on her tightens. “Would you like me to kill her for you, sir?”

“No, of course not. But that asterisk on her file back at HYDRA, you’re sure it took?”

Simmons’ eyes narrow. It feels good, honestly, to know something she doesn’t after she’s apparently been planning to kill him this whole time.

“Absolutely, sir,” Bakshi says, a hint of guilt in his voice. He would’ve been part of the effort to make that happen. Maybe he would’ve been proud of that work a few weeks ago, but that was before Grant got into his head.

Grant bends down to pull his knife from his boot. Simmons pales so badly he’s surprised she doesn’t pass out. He flips the blade idly in his hand as he bends down to her level. She’s so horrified, she doesn’t even think to fight back when Bakshi’s hold on her weakens to accommodate for Grant’s grip on her shoulder.

“Simmons,” Grant says gently, “I didn’t want to win you over this way - didn’t think I had to - but I guess neither of us are getting what we want today.” He sighs heavily. “I want you to take a deep breath.”

He can actually see the terror well up in her and then just as quickly wash away as the activation phrase settles in.

“You know what is best.”

The muscles of her shoulder relax under his hand. Bakshi lets her go, he’s so certain of the process.

“What is best, is that you comply.”

Watching Bakshi break, crying and begging and pissing himself, has not prepared Grant for Simmons’ final step into compliance. The expression on her face once it’s done can only be described as blissful. She leans into his touch when he pulls back and actually wavers a little on her feet. She looks utterly at peace. He had no idea the weight pressing on her until now, when it’s been abruptly lifted away.

“Simmons?” he asks, not sure she’s even still in there.

“Hm?” she asks, her over-wide eyes fixed on him.

“I’m gonna need you to do a few things for me and they won’t be fun. You think you can handle it?”

She smiles. “I’m happy to comply.”

“Good to hear.” He lifts the knife again and she doesn’t so much as flinch. “This is gonna hurt, but I don’t want you making a sound.”

She bites her lip so hard it bleeds, but she keeps quiet. The way she beams when he calls her a good girl, you’d never know he just cut a gash across her shoulder. 

The very visible bloody wound will be the excuse he needs to carry her heroically out of here on one of HYDRA’s planes. He’ll rendezvous with the others when he feels it’s safe, which won’t be until  _after_  he gets what he wants from her.

She’s gonna provide him with all the intel he needs on the team so he can make another pass at winning them over. Well, winning the  _rest_  of them over. Simmons is taken care of.


	3. Freud would have a lot to say

Grant is a horrible narcissist. He knows this. 

He liked Skye because she believed in things the way he used to before his family and Garrett beat it out of him.

He likes Kara because she’s broken, fighting every day to put herself back together. She was totally dedicated to one man and lost him. He can relate.

But they’re both like Grant when he is - or was - at his best. Which is fine, but he’s well aware that he’s not often at his best. Kinda like now.

“Get it over with, you monster,” Simmons bites out, her eyes focused on him instead of the gun he’s got on her.

Monster, she calls him! When she was the one about to stab him or shoot him or whatever the hell him with that thing she killed Bakshi with. He’s not sure what it was - and will  _not_  be examining the remains to find out - but from the results, it  _looks_  a hell of a lot like HYDRA tech. What has she been up to?

His gun hand shakes, but not from nerves. She’s definitely a threat to him and he’s never had any trouble putting one of those down. Only there’s this other emotion tugging at him this time: lust.

Simmons is supposed to be the nice, unassuming one, but in the past year she’s infiltrated an enemy organization, thrown a man she would’ve called a friend under the bus to save her own skin, and, he’s assuming, lied to her commanding officer to get put on this mission. And with Grant’s sketchy intel on the team lately, he’s willing to bet that’s not even a fraction of it.

He shifts his stance slightly. It does not help his growing problem.

It’s not just the duplicity or the murderous intent either. (Though those things really,  _really_  help, he’s not gonna lie.) She looks good in combat gear and looked even better taking Bakshi down. And now, with her chin lifted defiantly, ready to die … 

“You really have changed, Simmons.”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. Probably he should shoot her, but he’s got this habit of making bad decisions in a crunch lately and this time’s no different. He lowers the gun (doesn’t let it go, he’s not a complete idiot) and grabs the back of her head to pull her to him. She’s stiff, more than a little surprised by the kiss. He doesn’t wait for her to get over it, just moves right ahead with a bite to her lip. 

She gasps, a throaty little sound that is not all shock, he’s proud to say. She’s pressing up against him and he can’t help but hate the body armor right now because without it he could be feeling her body pressing into his instead of the hard planes of protective plastics. Still, she’s as affected as he is. That’s promising. As are her hands clinging to his neck. At this distance she could pull out her gun and shoot him dead, but she isn’t. 

He grins against her mouth, kisses the corner of it. Unfortunately for both of their libidos, he’s on a time limit here. 

“We’re gonna finish this later,” he promises.

She’s dazed when he pulls away, which only makes it (and him) a hell of a lot harder. He’s gonna spend a lot of time later, just him and his hand and the memory of that expression on her face. Probably a few thoughts on what it might look like to strip that tac gear off her piece by piece. 

He steps back. Thoughts like that, right here, right now, they’re gonna get him killed, or worse, get his memory wiped. He wants her, but not  _that_  badly.

The few extra seconds he spends getting control of himself give him the chance to see her come out of it. It’s less than gratifying. He knows he’s good at the physical and he knows for a fact she was attracted to him before the whole HYDRA thing ruined their little family. But the way she looks at him, you’d think she’d been kissing Garrett. 

“You … you …”

He throws her a cocky grin, just to keep her off balance. “I know. I’m pretty amazing. See you soon.” He leaves her still gaping after him. 

If he’s as good as he thinks, her thoughts will follow a similar path to his tonight. But even if they don’t, he’ll give her something else to think about soon enough.


	4. multilingual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You can speak seven languages but can't apologize in any of them!"

This isn’t the first time Grant’s eavesdropped on the others talking about him, but it is the first time the conversation has been so  _angry_.

“He hasn’t changed a bit,” Simmons says. “I don’t know what poor Agent 33 sees in him.”

“I think he might even be worse,” Fitz puts in.

“And what was that speech supposed to be?” Skye asks. “Did he think we’d feel  _sorry_  for him just because mommy and daddy didn’t love him? Doesn’t make the kidnapping and murder okay.”

“The man can speak six languages,” Simmons says woefully, “but he can’t apologize in a single one of them. Not that it would help.”

“But it’d be nice to hear!” Fitz says. “You think maybe he really did go crazy down in the Vault?”

There’s a brief moment of silence, followed by a general agreement that he hasn’t and none of them would care even if he had. 

Grant is, frankly, insulted. For any number of reasons (they should so care! And that speech was some of his best work. Unless he lost his touch while he was down in the Vault … something to think about), but hours later, with the team split up and Skye rescuing her new boyfriend, the most pressing issue seems to be Simmons. It might just be the proximity, or it might be that no one’s trying to  _limit_  the proximity. 

“You haven’t told them,” he says while she looks over the gurney he found for Peterson.

“Told them what?” she asks absently. She’s bent over, checking the wheels. He takes a moment to enjoy the view before stepping right up behind her. She doesn’t notice him until she’s straightened up, he can tell by the way she goes perfectly still.

He rests his hands on her shoulders and whispers, “You know what.”

She refuses to look at him, but that’s fine. He can see enough. Like the way her breathing’s become heavy and the color that’s moving up her neck. He likes her hair up, it makes it a lot easier to press a kiss beneath it.

There’s more pleasure in her gasp than surprise. 

“About this,” he says, moving closer. The gear they’re both wearing makes it awkward, giving him an excuse to hold her tighter than he otherwise would. 

“It was one time.” She has to drag in a breath to get her next words out. “Not worth mentioning.”

He laughs into the skin just behind her ear and her head tips back. “Funny, I could’ve sworn you screamed my name at least three times.”

Her hips jolt back, driving him away and giving her room to turn around. She grips the railing of the gurney so hard her knuckles are white. “You’re a monster,” she says.

He didn’t mean to have sex with sweet, innocent Jemma Simmons. It was obvious just from her file that Fitz was crazy about her, and getting in the way of that would only cause him trouble. But they’d both just had a hell of a day and needed the release. It was one of the few times he let his own desires get in the way of his mission, and he certainly made it count. So he’s not about to let her get away with saying she doesn’t know what Kara sees in him. He may be a liar and a traitor and yes, even a monster, but Simmons knows  _exactly_  what he has to offer a woman.

Despite her defensive posture, when he advances, taking her face in his hands and pressing a slow kiss to her mouth, she doesn’t push him away. Her hands scramble along the surface of his vest, searching for a hold, until they find one in the belt loops on his jeans. She drags his hips closer to hers. 

“ _Izvinite_ ,” he says and lifts her onto the gurney. She’s still got a grip on his belt loops and uses that to pull them together. 

“ _Désolé_.” He tugs at that tight ponytail of hers and meets her in a deep kiss. Her thighs are pressed so tight around the leg he’s got against her center, he might actually be losing some circulation. His lungs are burning by the time he moves down to her neck. 

“ _Scusami,_ ” he gasps. He pulls her collar down and sucks at the flesh just above her shoulder. One of her hands wraps around the back of his neck, digging into his skin.

“ _Lo siento_.” He kisses the spot he’s marked and lays the collar back over it. Her hand slides back and forth over his neck, soothing the damage she’s done. He kisses the spot again through the fabric.

“Sorry.” He nuzzles her chin as he steps back, putting a safe distance between them. It’s almost impossible to keep away when she looks like this. Her teeth drag at her swollen lip and she stares at him from beneath half-lowered eyelids. She’s mad, probably more that he did that at all than that he stopped, but she’s also  _very_  aroused. “I’d rather not get my mind erased. You understand.” He forces himself to keep going, to turn his back on her.

“That was only five!” she calls. She still sounds breathless. He doesn’t dare face her, but he can hear her slide off the gurney to the floor. “Your SHIELD file said you spoke six languages. That was only five.”

He grins, though she can’t see it. “German’s not exactly romantic.”

She scoffs. “ _You’re_  not exactly romantic.”

“And that is why you love me.” He leaves before she can answer. He knows very well she doesn’t love him, but his words and that mark he left on her neck will go a long way to undermining her hatred of him. At the very least they’ll keep her off balance the next time they meet.


	5. useful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For that "give me a sentence and I'll give you the next five" fic meme.

Oh yeah, _that_ he could definitely use.

He grabbed the splinter bomb from Simmons’ hand and threw it into the oncoming line of HYDRA soldiers. The results were as terrifying as they were impressive, just as Simmons had described.

“Why did you have that thing, anyway?” he asked, pulling her to her feet. If SHIELD lowered their standards enough for that kind of casual destruction, they had no ground to stand on keeping him out in the cold. (Also, why didn’t he get one of those to bring along?)

“For you,” she sighed, looking like a child just told she couldn’t have a pony for her birthday. 

She couldn’t mean to  _give_ him, so that meant… “You were going to-”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

He gave her a long, measuring look. Obviously he’d misjudged her. “I’m impressed,” he said finally.

She gaped up at him and it was just the opportunity he needed to grab her sidearm.

“Ah-ah,” he said when she tried to grab it back. He didn’t aim it at her, but he did hold it up, well above her reach. “I can’t really trust you with this, now can I? So for the rest of this mission, you and I are gonna stick together. I’ll keep you alive, and you won’t try to kill me. Deal?”

“I hate you,” she said instead of answering.

“I know,” he said with a smile, and holstered his gun, keeping hers at the ready. “Now let’s go. I’m sure Mike’s wondering where we are.”

Her angry glare was more than worth pretending to care about Peterson.


	6. amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Don't push it."

Ward puts a stop to the briefing almost before it’s begun. Jemma would be rolling her eyes at his drama queen antics (they should  _talk_? Get it all  _out in the open_? Who does he think he’s kidding?) except doing so would break the stone cold glare she’s got going. Which, it really must be said, she has been working on for  _months_. She actually used to stop specialists in the hall at HYDRA and snap photos of their annoyed expressions for reference. It … got her a bit of unexpected attention. (She does hope Agent Ramirez isn’t still too broken up over her rejection of his advances. She was told everyone on his floor could hear the Celine Dion for a week after.)

“I thought there might still be some hard feelings,” Ward is saying, trying to appear contrite (as if they would ever believe him). “There were some threats made, some mistakes, but we’re all here now, back on the same side, and it’s time to mend some fences.”

Really, does he think he’s fooling _anyone_?

“Which is why…”

Jemma trades a look with Skye as Ward sets his bag on the table. She appears even less impressed than Jemma, which is saying a great deal.

“I brought these,” he finishes proudly and pulls a cardboard box from the duffel. Inanely, Jemma’s brain seems caught on the fact that it is pink. Ward opens it with a flourish, revealing six- no.

No. Nononononono. Cupcakes? He brought  _cupcakes_?

He flashes a smile at Coulson. “Picked ‘em up while you were giving yourself up to Morse. According to Yelp, this place makes the best cupcakes in Milwaukee.” His smile fades a little as his eyes drift over the silent group. He pushes the box into the center of the table. “Don’t be shy. There’s one for everyone. And,” he adds solemnly, “Trip. Because no one bothered to tell me he was dead.”

“ _Seriously?_ ” Skye demands suddenly. “You expect us to forgive you just because you bring us  _cupcakes_?”

Jemma can feel Fitz’s eyes on her, but her attention is glued to the cupcake with the small TARDIS figure sticking out of the frosting. (There is also a hula girl, a plane, a green army man, a Captain America shield, and, of course, a monkey.) Likely Fitz is thinking this a little too coincidental after Gonzales’ story about Coulson winning them for his team via a gift of cupcakes. Jemma’s more thinking of her later remark. She didn’t  _mean_  it, of course. She would never be won over by something as silly as a pastry. However…

It is terribly coincidental, and Jemma’s never believed in coincidences. Too easy. Too  _sloppy_. For every effect, there is a cause. Simple as that.

Only, as there’s no way Ward could possibly know about the whole buying-loyalty-with-cupcakes conversation, that leaves her with a rather disquieting feeling in the pit of her stomach. One precisely the size of a cupcake.

With a sigh, she grabs the splinter bomb from her pocket and tosses it onto the table. She won’t have much need for it now, will she? The sound of it striking the glass tabletop halts the continuing conversation about just how insane Ward must be if he thinks this will work, meaning there is absolute silence when she takes the TARDIS cupcake from its slot in the box. 

“ _Simmons!_ ” Fitz yells, scandalized. The others, honestly, don’t look much better. All save Ward, who is smiling. And damn him, it looks sincere. She wonders if it would have if she wasn’t making a very public decision to trust him. (God, she must be insane, but it’s not her fault.)

“You were  _there_ , Fitz,” she says, reminding him of the conversation only a few short days ago. “Clearly the universe has spoken.”

“So you’re going to trust  _Wa_ \- gah!” He groans, turning away as she bites into the cupcake. It is  _very_ good, well-deserving of a best-in-city title. 

There are horrified gasps from the others. “That could be  _poisoned_!” Skye says.

Jemma halts abruptly mid-chew. It says something about how thrown she is by the universe’s interference in her personal life that she didn’t think of that before now. 

Ward rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on.” He reaches across the table, his fingers lacing with hers around the cupcake as he pulls her whole hand to his mouth so he can take a bite. “Phee?” he mumbles. (Jemma thinks he means “see.”) Pale blue frosting and a smattering of sprinkles -  _Jemma’s_  sprinkles - stick to the corner of his mouth. The universe may have demanded that she forgive him for his previous crimes, but that doesn’t mean she has to forgive him for this one.

She snatches her hand - and her cupcake - back from him, cradling both to her chest. “Don’t push it,” she warns. She plucks the now dangerously askew TARDIS from the remaining mound of frosting and licks the bottom. “Just because I’m taking back my promise to kill you doesn’t mean I can’t make it again.”

His eyes are locked on the TARDIS for some reason and, while she watches, his tongue darts out to reach the last bit of frosting, as if he knew it was there all along. “Right,” he says, shaking himself a little and straightening up. “Won’t happen again. You can have Trip’s to make up for it.” He nudges the box towards her.

“We  _are_  on a mission,” Coulson says, sounding very old suddenly.

“Of course,” Ward says. He claps his hands and gets right back into briefing them on the base. By the time he’s done, Jemma’s finished her cupcake as well as Trip’s and is eyeing the others, trying to decide who is least likely to want theirs.

She doesn’t get the chance to choose though, as May drags her from the briefing room immediately after they’re dismissed. “We are getting your stomach pumped the  _second_  we get back to the Playground.”

Behind them, Jemma can hear Ward asking, “How worried should I have been about that thing?” Presumably meaning the splinter bomb still on the table.

“Very,” Fitz says darkly.


End file.
